


The Wild Rose

by mrain



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beauty and the Beast, D/s, Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-12-14 02:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11773698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrain/pseuds/mrain
Summary: Alan is homeless and alone in a cold island called Roosevelt. With no money to leave and oblivious to the dark secret the island holds, Alan is grateful when a mysterious lady offers him a job in a remote manor.He should have known it was too good to be true. Finding the manor haunted by an ugly creature that was once the lord of that place, Alan needs to save not only himself, but also the beast he learns to fear and love.





	1. Chapter I - Rosevelt, Downtown.

_"Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!"_

_― Bram Stoker_

 

**Chapter I**

**Rosevelt, Downtown.**

 

Alan touched his last fifty dollars with the tip of his fingers. One in the morning brought the cold to Rosevelt, and as he was walking along the sidewalk of an apartment he asked himself why he was still trying. His fingers were numb inside his pockets, and he clenched them into fists, looking up at the buildings.

Every single house was made out of fine wood or rocks or pretty red-orange bricks. It was late, but he could see no one walking around the streets but loners, with their own wicked destination in mind. It was relatively silent, the sound of smooth engines passing by and the music of a club now and then breaking the illusion he was the only soul awake in the city.

Once again he found himself on the way to the hotel downtown. He went there looking for a job every weekend - it was a long walk from the abandoned house to downtown - but today, after an ugly fight with Jim, he lost his cool. He planned on using the last money he got to sleep in the city tonight, maybe eat some breakfast before coming back.

Jim lived in the abandoned house too, and was often pressing him about new ways to get money. Lately, he was obsessed with the idea of Alan prostituting himself, and even found some johns for him. Alan had been livid when he saw the middle aged man in the house trying to take him to a motel, and during his discussion with Jim he might have even cried. He was thirty years old, for crying out loud, he was no twink anymore. He made the man take his money elsewhere and go back to where he'd came from, and left too.

The wind hit his face harder and a wallpaper fluttered along the street before he stepped on it. He glanced behind as he walked and saw he had stepped on the faces of happy couple. He stopped. The headlines read "The road --- vanished two more -- ". It was hard to read the blurred lines on the wet paper. Alan knelt to catch it but a strong cold wind swept the paper away and he shivered when a snowflake hit his cheek. Hugging himself for warm in his old, military coat he'd stolen from his brother long ago, he kept walking, admiring the ancient architecture that seemed to have walked all over the place.

He slowed to a stop when he saw the flashing "Midnight Hotel" neon sign. The red flashing letters should make the place stand out, but in some way he couldn't explain, the large hotel blended in perfectly in the city's atmosphere. It was almost easy to miss it.

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

"Hey, I'd like to rent a room for the night," Alan said, with his elbows in the counter, and a charming smile on his face.

The entrance of the hotel reminded him of one from those 20s apartments. He never really entered the hotel, just hovered on the front where the jobs offers, printed in cheap papers, hung by a stand close to the glass windows. He was always looking for anything, from janitor work to handyman. His knowledge in architecture - he never managed to get that degree after all - didn't really serve him of anything nowadays.

When he entered the bell on the top announced his arrival but the man on the counter didn't look up, too busy tapping on the screen of a fancy phone. He did however look up when, impatient at the lack of response, Alan tapped his shoulder gently twice. he made sure of shrink a little into himself. He wasn't very tall but he was certainly taller than the clerk and he had learnt to play inoffensive in the streets when he realized "tough" didn't suit him. The clerk was a chubby fellow with brown soft hair and small brown eyes, the kind that intimidated no one.

He jumped at his touch and asked "What?".

Alan repeated the question.

The clerk frowned.

"You want what?" he asked again, incredulity settling on his face, as if he had just asked for a ridiculous thing.

"Rent a room," Alan said very slowly.

The clerk eyes flashed red for a second. Alan blinked twice. He must have been tired.

"W-we don't do that," the clerk said, pulling a big black phone on the counter from the hook. He dialed something.

Alan waved him away, incredulous. "Don't need to call no one, buddy, no trouble. I'm leaving."

"No, wait! I... You're the guy who can fix houses? You came into town looking a for a job, right?"

Alan turned around slowly. He nodded, reluctantly.

"Yeah, got anything for me?"

The chubby guy nodded several times, squeezing the phone in his ear. He whispered softly to the person on the other side of the line, then looked up at Alan.

"You can sleep in a room tonight, but you have to promise to stay till tomorrow. Mrs. Cath have a job offer for you."

Alan smiled while the clerk pulled a golden key from the row behind the counter. It looked like, beside his room, only another was taken. Weird, Midnight Hotel was supposed to be one of the famous hotels in town, Alan always saw it filled with people when he passed by during the day. Maybe the folks were out partying or something.

The clerk stepped out of the counter and walked up the steps on the far side of the room. Yes, it reminded him a lot of an old house, maybe a manor that was transformed into a hotel. The entrance was very spacious and the stairs that led up to the rooms were made of old wood. The doors were all made of old study wood too and the walls were painted concrete. He felt chills up his spine as he passed by those doors.

"I'll put you in the second floor because the first is... in maintenence. Yes. Humm... do try to stay away from room 104, the guy is a bit twitchy. Oh, no loud noises allowed!" Clerk glanced behind to see Alan following. Clerk frowned and his nose twitched. "Don't go bathing a lot, the smell... The, um, it's... fast baths. It's in the rules."

Alan nodded. As long as the water was hot he was happy.

Walking up another set of stair, they passed room 201, 202, 203, and finally stopped in room 206. He unlocked the door and gave Alan the key.

"If you need anything, scream. I'll hear ya. Name is Gabriel," he said flashing a fast smile, and walking away.

Alan stood there looking at his retreating figure for a second. Weird fellow, but that was Rosevelt for you.

Especially downtown.

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

Alan settled down fast after undressing himself and taking a thirty minute shower - he kept waiting for a knock saying he was overdoing but it never came and well, if he was being a problem he wouldn't be one for too long anyway. Once clean, he refused to put back on his smelly coat, staying on his fairly clean one size two large button down shirt, and underwear. He looked at himself in the mirror for a while taking in his young face and old eyes. His hand traveled through his bearded jaw and he sighed. The blond sparse beard was ugly on him, not growing right and not nearly hairy enough to be a full beard. Once upon a time, he shaved it off religiously, loving how smooth his skin felt.

He spotted a razor beside the sink and inspected it before using it on himself. The image that formed in the mirror had him stifling sobs, and blinking tears away while his eyes burned. After so much time, he still looked twenty-two.

"C'mon, man, get yourself together," he said in the empty room. He'd never been the type to cry. Always smiling. Good Alan. Positive Alan. It felt heavy and hard to try to pull that Alan out of him right now.

To imagine that he was alright four years ago, going to community college, working at the mall, paying the rent and taking care of his mother. Sure, his brother was a thief, good for nothing, always in and out of jail. Nothing to do with him, and he'd made sure he had nothing to do with his mother either. As long as he could.

His thin, broken mother.

Dead, he reminded.

His mother was dead now.

Honestly she wasn't holding it together much. The alcohol she was drowning in keep pushing her down, every time she got a little closer to the surface. He never blamed her, like Hank did. His brother yelled at her, threatened to leave her in an asylum, called her names. But only Alan saw the way she glared at the bottles when no one was looking. He knew how she threw away the bottles herself, throwing them at the walls, cursing his father to hell, herself for being weak, and then pass out. She fought depression and abstinence until the end. He couldn't blame her for losing such a hard battle from time to time. She was trying, and no one but Alan could see it.

She died because of his father, not because of the alcohol. She died because she missed him, until she couldn't miss him no more.

He remember going back from middle school, sitting on the couch, waiting for supper. She'd crouch in front of him, hold his face between her hands and squeezing till he giggled. She always had a faraway expression in her face, almost as if she wasn't there at all.

_"You're so damn handsome," she'd whisper. "Just like your father. You a siren, baby. How could such a good thing come out of me?"_

He'd heard it all his life. Pretty boy, handsome, charming. His mother wanted him to be a model. But a pretty face didn't save you from much when you're born in the wrong kind of family, in the wrong part of town, with the wrong kind of budget.

She said his name meant _beautiful_. _"I couldn't believe you were real when the nurse put you in my arms. Even the nurse was looking wide eyed at ya, Alan. She said 'I never held a baby so pretty like that.'_

He smiled at the mirror, seeing his mother's smile instead. Closing the bathroom door he looked around the room again taking in the clean, well put together bedroom. A job offer the clerk said. He walked to the bed and sat heavily upon it, putting his elbows on his knees and threading his fingers through his slightly wet blond hair. It ended just below the ears, Jim cut for him every month in the same easily combed style.

It sounded official, like a permanent thing. Job offer. Mrs Cath, he'd said.

 _Newspaper_ , he thought, getting up. He walked to the door and caught the one that was beside it, in a basket. It was today's newspaper. He opened it and found himself staring at the happy couple again. The lady was a brunette who looked to be around thirty and her husband was not a very memorable guy. Neither were. What caught his attention was the missing person headline. Every time it came out on the newspaper he found himself looking for Teddy's name, or Pete, or Dave. Any of the guys he'd come to met in the abandoned house and then one day just disappeared without a trace.

Except Teddy. He saw Teddy go, and he knew where he went. Maybe Teddy had killed himself, because he never came back. Going to the city's council for help might as well be suicide. He never fully understood how the council worked, but they were the ones that really owned the island and made the rules. All he knew was that Teddy went to them for help, and never came back.

Alan went back to bed, this time getting under the covers and scanning the article. It talked about a tourist couple that - for god's sake why - came to Rosevelt as vacation - in bloody november - and planned on staying on Grand Mtzu Hotel, built in a historical place were the romanians had build many manors when they first came to the island.

Apparently they never got to the manor. The article said that the road to the manors in the coast side of the island was tricky to follow and the manors too far from one another, with nearly no one to call for help if one were to get lost. There were villages with supplies and small family's houses and bars if one knew the roads and where to find them, but tourists? The numbers scared Alan. One hundred five missing persons had been swallowed by the Waterwood Road this year, declared dead by the police. No one could survive Rosevelt in the winter, stranded alone in a road. Crying for help. No one near.

He dropped the newspaper in the nightstand, shaking his head at his foolishness. He was never so sensitive as a boy or young man, nor easily scared. but since Teddy disappearance, he begun to reevaluate some things in his life, and wonder if it was really worthy to stay alive in Rosevelt. Since then, he shook at night with nightmares of mafia, and crime, and crawling spiders and giants snakes. Rosevelt scared the shit out of him.

The nights always lasted so long, and the days seemed to vanish in a blink of an eye.

He pulled the blanket over his head and the softness and warmth took over his body fast, lulling him into a sense of security he never felt at the abandoned house. The door was locked, the windows shut against the falling snow and everything was fine, for the moment.

While half asleep, and half awake, he heard footsteps outside his door. The door handle turned twice, before a deep rumble resounded on the other side. Alan didn't know if he was still sleeping or not, nightmares of shadows crawling under the door and bats flying into his room mixing with the desperate turning of the knob of a stranger.

Another set of footsteps walked fast down the corridor and the bats and the shadows faded away along with the shadows of boots by the feet of the door. He recognized the clerk's voice.

"No feeding tonight, no feeding from guests."

The exasperated voices followed down the corridors along with stumbling footsteps and Alan felt himself drowning in another dream, helpless to do anything about it. The voice was still speaking angry in the corner of his mind.

"No feeding tonight."

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

"What?" Alan stared at the lady in front of him, mouth full of the egg pieces he had been shoving into his mouth. He had barely woken up and came downstairs to catch the free breakfast, when this beautiful woman pushed a chair across from him and sat down. She had dark tanned skin and a curly hair that fell from her shoulders and cascaded down her back, and she was dressed in a small fitted button down shirt that was the color of red wine and appeared to be made of silk or one of the good quality cloth Alan couldn't name. Her dark maroon skirt reached down her ankles and her pantyhose was black with some kind of needlework. Her face was aristocratic with a square jaw that Alan found beautiful in her, but her hard, down to business eyes had him guarded and wary even when she smiled and told him her name. Then she went right down to business.

"House-keeping. Caretaker if you will, but I'm afraid you will have to do a lot of handyman work there too," she said, smiling tightly. "Really, the showers and plumbing need work. It's been... Years since someone lived there."

Alan put the fork down and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

"In a manor, you say?" he swallowed. "Let me guess, Waterwood Road?"

She laughed bitterly. "Oh, please. Don't tell me you are afraid of the stories in the news? They exaggerate things on porpose. I wouldn't send you there blindly, Alan. Don't act like such an outsider."

Alan's face went stony and he felt cold. The way she said it, like he was part of Rosevelt sounded weird, since he's been there for only a couple of months, but he didn't argue.

"Well, I don't suppose the owner is there now, if the house is in such a bad state?"

"It's owner has been away, he isn't really is in any shape to take care of the manor." She was still slightly smiling but a little frown bothered her face. Alan thought she saw her eyes too bright for a second, but she only took a deep breath and said, "He is my brother. He is very sick, and has been recovering from his illness in a private hospital. I don't know when he'll be back... but it breaks my heart to let that beautiful house fade into nothing while he's away."

She seemed honest, and Alan lived in the streets enough to know a face that doesn't lie. Alan felt for her and her brother.

"Alright. I'm sorry about your brother." She waved him away. He cleared his throat. "Hmm, then I'll be there alone. I- I don't really have a car anymore so..."

She interrupted him with another polite smile.  
"Oh, don't worry about that. We'll figure that out."

She specified how the payments would be done and that Alan agreed with her requirements.

"Well, that is all." She said, opening her purse and drawing out a set of keys and a small stack of papers. "You just sign these and fill out the information about yourself and I'll give you the keys to the manor. "

Alan took the papers warily. "That's it? I passed the interview?"  
She chuckled again. "Yes, easy like that. You could say I'm... desperate. And you look like someone I can trust." Her smiled dimmed a little.

Alan took the pen she graciously lent him, and the set of keys. He signed, not caring about the words in the paper. He had nothing to lose, after all.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to stay with you any longer, nor will I be able to take to the manor myself. I'll ask a friend of mine to come take you to the manor when you are ready, if you could just give me a call?"

"Oh, okay. I don't really have a lot of things. I suppose I'll stay in a house around the manor?"

"Inside," she said hastily. At Alan's frown she added more gently, "You have to stay inside. You need to sleep in the manor, Alan."

He nodded slowly. "Alright, no spending money in furniture then." He laughed, but Catherine didn't follow this time. She looked rather grim instead, her polite smile giving away to a somber look, as if the conversation made her tired. She looked at her watch.

"Oh, look at the time. I'm afraid I have to go," she said getting up. "We do need to trade numbers, So you can call me when you are ready to go."

Alan nodded and took his old phone from his pocked. They exchanged numbers, and she squeezed his hand before leaving.

" _Iarta-ma_ ," she whispered. Then she turned around and walked away, heels thumping loudly on the ground. Alan frowned.

"What? What did you say?" he called.

She looked back at him, tilting her head "Goodbye, Alan."

"See ya!" Alan said, sitting down slowly in his chair. Catherine didn't look back.

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,


	2. Chapter II - House on a Hill

_"Nothing makes a man so adventurous as an empty pocket."_

_― Victor Hugo_

 

**Chapter II**

**House on a Hill**

 

Ackman was a tall, bulky, ugly fellow that kept his eyes on the road and gave Alan little attention as the truck rode along the quiet roads of Rosevelt. Alan tried to catch the guys attention once or twice, making questions about the state and such, but no luck. The man was on a mission, it seemed. With his black suit, and a set of broad hands, he looked very much like Ms Catherine's thug.

Alan had spent the last two days preparing the little he had to his travel. The contract was two years long but Catherine had said while he talked to her on the phone, that she would renew it after that, if so he wished. She was very vague, as if two years from now didn't really matter, but Alan made plans to save money just in case the job wasn't permanent. He had to concede, though. Looking at the beautiful landscapes of the place, each time they got closer to Wood River Road, had enchanted him. He could get used to it.

The man at his side remained silent while Alan made an attempt to tune the radio. Alan glanced at him with the corner of his eyes when he choose some country but the guy's eyes remained set ahead, as if the sound didn't really reach his ears, protected by some invisible barrier. Alan set it to pop. No movement. He settled it on classic just because he thought the guy would secretly enjoy it.

Alan looked at him while some violins rocked on. Ackman cleared his throat and did not acknowledge him.

_I think he likes it._

The road right then was pretty dull, Alan thought, a field of grass on one side, some cattle walking around some more grass on the other side. Sometimes trees accumulated on the distance and he took some pictures with his phone. It wasn't very fancy, probably outdated, but it took some nice pictures.

It was beginning to get cold again. Alan closed the windows and hugged his old coat to himself while the road began to get trickier, some more bumps than before. The trees begun to get more and more together as they rode along and at some point, when things began to grow dark even though the day wasn't close to be over, Alan realized they had entered the Wood River road.

"Hey... Ackman?" The man had mumbled his name in a fast presentation before they took of Midnight Hotel. The last days at the Hotel had been nice, sleeping in a warm and soft bed instead of the usual dirty mattress in the floor.

Ackman said nothing.

"So this… manor. Is it too far?"

When no answer came, Alan thought about giving up and just slumping against the seat and sleeping. But after a few minutes, when he had almost forgotten what he asked, the big nosed man replied, "We are getting there, Alan. Just a few more minutes, now."

The soft and lyrical sound of the big man's voice startled Alan. If he was being honest the man was… ugly. As if he belonged to another time, old but not quite. He didn't have lines in his eyes yet, but that felt wrong too.

_He's old._

"Oh. Did you ever went there? I mean… How is the manor like? Catherine said her brother is the owner but I never really caught his name."

"It's best if you don't know. Just know that her brother is… Was an exceptional man, and we were all sorry to hear he got... sick. I would follow him to the end of the world, you know?" Ackman looked into his eyes for the very first time and Alan was blown away by the loyalty in his eyes "What happened to him, we are all sorry for it. It was nobody's fault. That's why we take care of him, Alan."

"Yeah, I got it man," Alan smiled. "I'll take good care of the manor for him."

Ackman's eyes flashed red for a second, and Alan jumped. He blinked, twice. Maybe the whole flashing thing was a Roosevelt thing, or he was really getting a little twisted in the head. Ackman's eyes were dark blue. He checked again. Yes, no red whatsoever. Ackman said, "Yes, Alan. I'm sure you will."

Soon enough they entered through a narrow road, the trees tall and then joining at the top, making a chapel for them to go through. Alan looked at the time. It was flashing 17:08 on his watch and he yawned while the road gave away to an unpaved path, and a forest opened up to them. Soon they got to a big metal gate, decorated with spikes to prevent trespassing. It was very tall. It extended to both sides, and most places were thick with vines intertwined in the metal. Ackman got out and unlocked the gates. Then he slowly walked back, and got in the truck again. He lowered his head and spent a whole minute like, that saying nothing. Alan was beginning to get worried, and seriously considering getting out and running away from the truck, because Ackman kind of scared him when he did this silent thing. But the man began to talk.

"This is it, Alan," Ackman said, turning on the ignition and leaving the keys there. "I won't go any further."

Alan frowned, "But is just there."

He pointed at the big manor, rising up between the trees. It was too early to tell, but it already looked majestic and old, like a royal matriarch. Ackman took the keys for the manor and the gate and held it out to him. "You must cross the gate and park the truck just under that wooden chapel. Then you can enter the manor with the golden key." Ackman said, still not looking at him.  
Alan took the key from his hand but before he could get another word, Ackman climbed out and shut the door. Alan scrambled to the driver's seat and rolled the windows down.

"But how will you get back?!" he shouted.

"Do not worry Alan. I know my way," Ackman said, and it was as if he was just beside talking in his ear, the clear voice carried through the wind. Alan rolled the window down before he could get pneumonia. What a weird guy.

Turning on the car, Alan crossed the tall, spiked gates that circled the manor. The manor was very far from the gate, and Alan noticed that he must be entering through the back because he could see some statues in the distance, and something that looked like a backyard garden. He passed through a lake, beautiful old wooden banks on each side. The trees looked dead in the winter, and it was as picturesque as an old gothic history book. Alan thought he saw a rabbit taking off inside the foliage but it was too foggy to see. Driving along the road Alan simply followed the path and the manor grew larger in his view. The more he watched it the more it took his breath away. The manor was huge, with dozens of windows, some broken and some blocked by foliage. And because it was made of rock, Alan thought it could very much had been a castle once. The renovations that had been made were subtle and gentle to it's original architecture, and Alan's imagination was running wild at the thought of how it could be made better, how the inside must look.

He found the little chapel pretty quickly, it was just beside the manor.

Turning off the truck, Alan opened the door and very quickly got his small bag from the back seat and hopped off, shutting the door and running towards the manor. It wasn't raining but he made a mental note to buy a good umbrella in the future, he would sure use it.

The big doors of the manor were intimidating, but Alan knew no one was inside so he didn't bother knocking. It still felt like sin, a violation of a queen, to open the door with the golden key and feel the hinges give in, while one of the doors opened slightly with a moan, just enough for him to enter. Him and his bag.

The door banged shut with a loud booming sound and Alan looked ahead to the darkness before him. His breath caught on his throat and he could only stare for a few minutes.

Invaded by nature, the tall windows inside were embraced by green leaves and where there was an opening they invaded. The floor, dark mahogany, was dirty. Broken vases, thrown about chairs and broken furniture all across it. Alan itched for a broom, or maybe ten. The walls, decorated with beautiful paintings, were high and proud. Everything was dark. Even beneath the decay, the only thing Alan could see was the beauty underneath it all. Suddenly, he was very proud to be the one with the task of the house-keeper. It would be an honor to fix, clean, and watch the big lady rise again from it's ashes.

Ahead of the entrance hall, Alan entered the living room gazing up at the big chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Every furniture was now covered by white sheets, and the living room was cleaner than the entrance hall. Only dusty and dark. Everything was so dark. Alan took in the architecture as he walked, and he saw a crow get in through an open window and perch on the big chandelier in the middle of the living room. The chandelier swayed, the black bird let out an ugly screech just when a lamp fell and hit the floor. Alan barely managed to step back and cover his eyes when the glass broke and spread.

He cursed, watching the bird fly out, then shivered at the thought of bad luck - his mother was a firm believer of that stuff. He made another mental note of closing all the windows and hunting animals that had possibly entered the manor. Catherine said no thieves or homeless people were in there, but that said nothing about animals.

He walked up a big set of stairs that spiraled along to the top. Alan was still walking along a corridor from the first floor when he felt a rush of cold air assault him. Hugging himself, Alan looked in the direction the wind was coming from and saw a slightly open door in the end of the corridor. It was made of hard wood like the others, but it was a double door, and adorned to look very impressive. Alan walked to it and entered, praying for it to be a bedroom where he could just rest a little before getting on with the exploration.

The big portrait that hung in the wall was the first thing that drew his attention. A man, looking at the horizon with a firm expression presented himself for the work of an artist. He looked like a warrior or a king from ancient times, but his clothes were from the early 1800s… Alan thought this must be one of the patriarchs of the family, if the manor was as old as that. He got closer. The man had a strong beard and neatly combed black hair that was tied back from his masculine face. He had a mustache that fitted his features, and cold hard eyes. Alan tilted his face in search for a name at the bottom.

It read Constantin Coandă. Alan mouthed his name, and looked at him again. It seemed to fit. He was suddenly curious about the history of the manor, and how this man founded his family here. Alan looked around the room, and found another big painting. This time, it was Constantin again but there was a woman by his side. She was dark haired too, long hair falling down her shoulders.

The lines around her eyes, the graying hair and the similarities with Constantin made her probably his mother. Her face was delicate and everything in her screamed femininity and softness. Alan looked for anger, bravery or even strength, but found none. It was hard not to compare her to his mother. His mother's eyes were always distrusting, always on guard, like a warrior's. This lady's eyes were pure, innocent and had no fight in them.

She was smiling at him, while Constantin kept a strong protective arm around her waist, and she was leaning against him, accepting his embrace. Alan thought the family looked rather beautiful together. Constantin had a more indulging expression in this painting.

Alan remembered a time when he desired such man when he looked at Constantin. He was tall and broad, and the way he carried himself with confidence made him attractive to Alan, but at this point in his life - God, look at where life had gotten him - he really just wanted to grow old in peace and die alone. At thirty, Alan felt he had lived more than he'd ever wanted to.

Alan looked around the room again, and decided to take the sheet off the luxurious armchair and wooden table on the room. He decided this was the first room he would clean - after finding the kitchen and a bathroom of course, and getting them to work.

The armchair looked expensive and was still in very good condition. If all the furniture in the manor was still like this Alan wouldn't need to throw anything away, except the garbage around the manor.

He noticed it was getting late so he decided to look around for a bedroom to crash. The whole manor was getting darker and it as giving him the creeps so, when he finally found a simple, tiny bedroom probably meant for maids he put his backpack down and searched around for candles.

He lit two and began to look around the room for a blanket for the narrow little bed. He found some in a closet, old and dusty. He shook it once and deemed it good enough.

Closing the only window, he found it was slightly misplaced and wouldn't close completely. He felt the cold slipping through the gap but having nothing to fix it, decided to leave it as it was until later.

After that, he laid down in the bed and tried to put himself to sleep. The candle light lit the bedroom in strange ways and he found himself a little bothered by it, sometimes thinking he was seeing things that weren't there.

At some point in the night he fell asleep. He was dreaming of a big forest and it was foggy like Rosevelt. He was following a path but sometimes the wind flew by and he got lost again.

Still not sure if he was sleeping or not, he was suddenly back in the little bedroom of the mansion. The air was thick and he heard heavy breathing nearby. He tried to move or make a sound but try as he could, he felt bound to the bed. Lying on his stomach, his turned face could only see whispers of shadows the candle made on the wall. The heavy breathing got louder, Alan's heart speed up as if something bad was about to happen. He felt the blanket slide off his back and thighs. He didn't have any pajamas so he went to sleep on his boxers and the oversized t-shirt a man donated to him back in New York. It was comfortable but it couldn't fight the cold of the room.

_He shivered._

With no blanket on Alan trembled, and as the heavy breathing continued, now accompanied by snarling, Alan felt rough fingertips graze against his tight. The snarling sound made no sense and Alan struggled to see but he still couldn't move. Panicking he tried to make sounds working his throat but still nothing came out. Nothing but little gasps.

He felt the beast, the monster in the room bend over him, and a stale breath reached his nose. It was disgusting, a rotten smell along with a metallic taste, Alan could almost taste it. His heart felt like it was going to explode and he felt sharp teeth worrying the skin on his neck. Alan's movements were slight, sleepy and slow. His hands could do nothing but tighten around the bed sheets while he slowly tried to move around. The beast allowed him to turn, perhaps not caring about to what his little prey was doing. When Alan saw the beast's face, he gasped.

With a sleepy, scratchy voice barely heard by both, he whispered, "Constantin?"

The beast focused his black eyes back at him with such a speed, it made Alan jumped a little. The man cocked his head like a confused hound, and Alan saw him whispering his own name back. Now Alan was sure he was sleeping, seeing a guy that had died hundreds of years ago in his bedroom making snarling sounds. His eyes closed again of his own volition, waiting for the half Constantin/half monster to tear him apart so the nightmare would end and he could wake up, but the beast only whispered back, sounds almost unrecognizable coming from the animalistic vocal cords.

"Con-Constantin.. Constantin…"

Alan shot up from the bed when he felt the sleep give away to awareness. Eyes wide open, he looked around the room. Everything was quiet. The candle had long since burned out and the room was dark. No monster, no dead man, no comforter off his body.

Just a lot of water.

He sneezed and looked at the window. The glass had given out and slid down, letting the wind blow the snow inside. Alan was in the exact direction of it. He quietly got off bed and fixed it, pushing it shut.

Alan slowly laid down on the bed again, pushing the blanket over himself. The window was holding but cold air still rushed through the gasps. He was beginning to regret getting the most simple bedroom for himself. He should learn to be a little more greedy. It wasn't like anyone would notice if he chose a bigger bedroom.

Alan felt into a deep uneasy sleep.

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

_"Bela Lugosi's dead,_

_The bats have left the bell tower."_

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

Alan woke up hungry.

His belly grumbled and roared like mighty beast and he patted it twice, still in the bed and comforter askew. He was feeling warmer, and looking at the window he saw the fog had gave out for a shy sun that was shining over the puddles of water inside. In the new light Alan looked around and while he was gazing at the wall, head turning lazily on the pillow, he had the idea to look for a bedroom that actually had a fireplace on them.

Because he was smart. Yesterday must have been a fluke.

His belly complained. He stood up gingerly, taking his flip flops and standing up. The shirt was too big on him and he slipped it off, ribs showing on his thin frame. He scratched his back and looked for something warm to wear. He had a pullover, one he bought with the little money Catherine gave him. She said it was a little present, to buy him something warm so he wouldn't suffer on the way here. The way she said it was weird, like he was a little animal that "suffered" in the cold. Alan accepted but the way she said it almost seem she was sending him to his grave or something.

The pants he put on was one made of cotton and it polled a little around his feet, but it was comfy.

He took what was left of the little candle and shoved it it on his back pack. He decided to only really unpack when he found a good and warm bedroom, and until there he would just leave it all on his backpack. He made another mental list to fix the shower with the tool box he had in the truck and give himself a bath. Then he would unload the little bit of groceries he left on the truck too.

Walking the corridors of the manor was confusing. Too many rooms. He would have to make a map and take it with him at least for a while. Passing by the small chamber he knew held the picture of Constantin, he couldn't resist slipping inside again. He vaguely remembered his dream last night, but he was sure the big guy plagued his nightmares. He looked at the picture.

"Did you escape the frame and decided to bother me tonight, huh?" he said. Constantin in the painting had a mustache, light trimmed beard and combed hair while Constantin from his dreams had a full beard, disfigured eyes and an unkempt mane. Constantin from his dreams was terrifying, now that Alan remembered it. His mouth had fangs instead of teeth, all thirty-two of them pointed and dripping with saliva. His breath was disgusting and he was sure a human wasn't supposed to have that amount of muscles in his back.

Alan's imagination was incredible.

Yet, in the end of the dream, Alan almost felt like it was real, the way the snarling face came to a soothing, confused stared. Like a fairy tale, he said the monster's true name, and it left him alone.

Alan traced his fingers through his golden name once more, and felt the hair on his neck rise. He looked back fast, but the door only swayed slightly. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and stepped back from the picture. He had to let go of his fears. There was only him and the manor, and if he couldn't get around it, then how the hell would he do his job?

Catherine hadn't said anything but it was obvious she would be coming later to see if he was doing his job right.

Alan left the room and he walked down the corridors, proceeding to go to the nearest bathroom. He suddenly needed to pee badly. His flip flops slapping on the floor was the only noise he could hear as he waked, stretching and yawning down the beautiful corridors of the manor, full of broken pieces of furniture, garbage and dirt.

The morning sun was shining through the gaps. Shining over the big decay that was both manor and him.

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,


	3. Chapter III - The Haunt

_"Since you have the goodness to think of me," answered she, "be so kind to bring me a rose, for as none grows hereabouts, they are a kind of rarity."_

_― Beauty and the Beast_

**Chapter III**

**The Haunt**

Alan fixed the valve in place and tightened the screws, before turning the tap. He climbed out of the tub just before the first flow of the shower could hit him, and grinned. He chuckled in joy when he stuck his cold hand in there and felt the heat. The tub was big, and it proved to be white when the water hit it. He turned on the smaller taps too, the ones he had found before but hadn't tested it yet, and nodded to himself when they worked as well.

The bath he fixed was one that he found in a big bathroom on the second floor. It was on the second floor where the suites where on, big rooms with wide furniture and great fireplaces. The room he was in right now was the most secured one, the wide heavy double doors had been hard to push, but Alan knew this was the right bedroom to fix the bathroom because if Catherine or her brother decided to stay in the manor anytime soon, they would probably use this bedroom. He would just have to use the shower in here for a while until he got around to fixing the others.

The bathroom was beautiful. Alan had been awed, cooing to the little details and the baroque styled big mirrors. The plumbing, thankfully hadn't been too hard to figure out. The renovations made Alan wonder about the story of the mansion, and for how long exactly no one had been living in it. If Alan could guess, he would say at least forty years. But if Catherine's brother wasn't at least sixty or something then that didn't made any sense.

Alan took off his shirt, his pants and hung them by the tub. There was a basket for laundry, but Alan was pretty sure there were spiders in it. He had used the bathroom before fixing the shower and checked every little place for animals. No rat jumped at him from the cabinet so he was safe for now.

He took the only cleaning product he found in the back of the truck, something that was probably forgotten by however owned the automobile before, and with an old rag he climbed in the tub and started scrubbing it, the flow of the water washing him and the dirt from the tub altogether. The water flowed nicely and disappeared into the drain.

After the bathtub was white again, and the floor of the bathroom was squeaky clean, along with the walls, the sink, the cabinets and even the spider-filled basket - in which while cleaning Alan screamed a lot - he finally watched the last batch of dirty water go down the drain, and felt his arms ache with the unusual work out. He put on his pants again, and his new pullover, and gave the bathroom a last satisfied look before cleaning the door.

The dark room he was faced with was made for a king. Big curtains hid the bed and red carpet hid the wooden floor. It was the only room that was clean and had no white sheets hiding furniture. No broken things, no garbage, and very little dust. It was almost as if someone had been sleeping here, and the curtains hiding the bed from view created the illusion that maybe there was someone there right now.

The air was still, for sure no one had opened the curtains for years.

While the bathroom received the morning light from the window, the bedroom was in darkness. The walls had a very beautiful paint work. There were monogamy cabinets in the corners, a bedside table and another armchair. The fireplace was huge and the red curtains on the window were indulgent of whoever had laid here before.

It was all so quiet. Alan thought he could feel a presence in the bed, behind the curtains. But the curtains remained still.

Alan looked at it for a second, thinking maybe it would move and prove he was not paranoid. Nothing happened. The uneasiness grew, but he could not bring himself to open the curtains.

It was all Alan could do to tiptoe fast outside of the room. He got the feeling he would be doing this a lot in the creepy house.

Back at In the kitchen, Alan tested the tap and cleaned a small place in the counter to put a plastic wrapped bread, some bananas and a pot of jam. That was all he had brought with him and he made a small breakfast with it, subsiding his stomach. Just as he was about to clean the remains a noise , sounding from the living room, made him leave the mess he made and quickly walk to the entrance hall.

His mind immediately though about Catherine, maybe she had sent her thug to check on him again. But when he entered the entrance hall he was faced with the back of a small, curved old man. He was gazing at the picture of a lady that hang in the wall. His clothes were old as well. Alan cleared his throat and the old man slowly turned around, face ashen and mouth gaping. Alan smiled nervously.

"Hi? My name is Alan, you are?"

"Oh, my!"

"Sir, are you okay? Are you lost?" Alan asked, walking to the old man. The man gasped and quickly walked back.

"You are still alive?" he asked. Alan noticed his pronounced British accent.

"Hm, yeah..." Alan said, confused. "Do you have someone I can call? Maybe an address..." Alan was feeling rather lost himself. He was pretty sure he had locked the door of the manor last night. The man seemed to relax and smiled slightly, but still a little uncomfortable.

"Oh no, son. I… I'm not batty! I work here you see." The man held his hands behind his back for a second, and then showed Alan a key much like his own. "I was just surprised to see another person here! There is no one working on this-this house…"

Alan smiled, and quickly showed his own set of keys, "I was recently employed. Here to fix some problems around the manor and house-keep it."

"Oh," the old man said, now smiling more. "You- you came to stay then?" Alan nodded and the man grew more serious.

"Did you have any… problems last night?" he asked. His brow furrowed and his tone was almost weary. "Did you slept well?"

"Oh, yes. Well, I may have chosen the wrong bedroom, the window opened in the middle of the night and some snow flew in. I may have caught a cold." Alan laughed. "Some nightmares too, but I guess I'm just settling in. I hope Catherine's brother don't mind me going to one of the bigger guests bedrooms from now on, but I really need one with a fireplace."

"No, no! He would never mind something like that." The man said, smiling and spreading his arms, gesturing to the manor. "Make yourself at home, sleep anywhere you want. You are.. welcomed here. He welcomed you here."

Alan frowned a little at the man's weird phrasings, but smiled politely.

"Yeah, sure. I'm thankful then. Do you sleep inside too?"

"Oh, no I… don't sleep around here. I was… was the gardener. I don't come inside no longer. I only watch over for… thieves," the man said slowly, as if testing the words.

"Alright. Well, I need to get back to work, I'm planning on buying some food and coming back to finish."

The man looked at him a little panicked.

"You are leaving? Why? Are you coming back to us, Alan?"

Alan turned back to him. The old man must have gotten a little twisted in the head here in these woods all alone, maybe he needed someone to take care of him or something. Alan gave him a sweet smile, or so he thought, to calm him. Maybe he had Alzheimer's and thought he was someone else.

"Yes, I will come back very soon. I'll just go to buy food for me, and also some products and tools to fix the house. Maybe you want me to bring something back for you?"  
The man looked thoughtfully at him, looking for lies on his face. When he deemed Alan worthy of his answer he nodded.

"Why, yes, Alan. Bring me a rose seed, why don't you?" The old man smiled, a little embarrassed. Alan blinked when his figure seemed to shimmer on his view a little. _Gosh, he was tired._ "A rose's seed, but only one seed. Must be a wild rose, Alan. Wild rose seed, for my little garden." The man chuckled.

Alan nodded. If the man called the huge camp of flowers surrounding the manor a _little garden_ , what must he call a big one?

Alan went back to his room to put on his boots and pick up the truck keys.

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

_"Since the girl is going to be with us for quite some time, I was just thinking - you might want to offer her a more comfortable room." - Beauty and the Beast, 1991_

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

Later that night, after a long day cleaning the kitchen, fixing the old cabinets and filling them with food - he also remembered to leave the wild rose's seeds under the door of the greenhouse for the eccentric old gardener, since he couldn't find him anymore - Alan took his phone to call Catherine.

He felt himself dying a little when there was no signal. He needed to talk to Catherine about his room's condition, and how he needed the keys to another room. Every room he found open on the first floor had no heating or had the windows broken, except for the living room and the room with Constantin's portrait. He thought about sleeping on the sofa in that room, but gave up after smelling a terrible odor on them. He didn't want to make himself sick with that dust.

...And the thought of sleeping under that man's gaze was unsettling.

But the thing was, there was too many rooms locked, plus the attic, and the basement. Other rooms, like bedrooms and some he could only guess what held inside them were also locked, which made his job much harder.

He looked around the small bedroom, the snow puddles that had fallen in the floor were still there. The bedrooms of the second floor were bigger and filled with expensive things which intimidated him to even enter, and Alan would never be able to sleep in the master's bedroom. That room still gave him the chills, as if a ghost inhabited it.

He sighed, and sat down on the cold little bed. It would have to do. After a long time, when he had already settled to sleep, his mind still waiting for the cellphone to ring, Alan thought he saw a shadow pass over the bedroom door. Mind foggy with sleep again he felt fingertips graze his ankles, and heard the snarling sounds from the nightmare before in his mind. This time though, the snarlings were softer, the growling grew to a purr, as if someone had tamed the beast. He shook his head and turned over.

The heavy breathing continued thought, but Alan looked around the room and saw only shadows. He tried to tell himself there was no one else in the room, the touches were in his imagination, and he promised to himself to try and fix the lights tomorrow. The gardener had said there were no lights in the manor, but he wasn't sure the man understood his questions. Until then, candles would have to do.

The last thing he felt before he fell asleep was hot air over his hair, and sniffing sounds.

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

_A black cat crossing your path signifies that the animal is going somewhere._

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

The garden in the front of the manor was a wide, big camp of flowers that looked like they weren't taken care of for a long, long time. Most of them were out of place, some beds almost completely dying. The fountain in the middle of the garden made the base for a winged lady with curly hair who was dirty and the water underneath her was stale, the bottom full of moss and some dead little fishes floating around. As Alan explored he noticed the little fishes were indeed very little, not grown full size. The stench was terrible, and Alan knew he would have to clean this later.

Alan took out the bottled water he had brought and started to pour it over the flowers beside the fountain. The back of the manor was filled with wild vegetation, almost a forest growing in there, and he found the well close to the lake. He decided to take up on what the gardener had said the day before. No one was going to take care of it, Alan might as well do it. It was afternoon, just after he prepared himself some lunch.

The money Catherine had given him ended up not being much at all and he used all of it to stock the manor with food. He was getting worried. He had received no news from Catherine, and the diesel in the truck had only enough to get him into town again, not to go back. He went to town by midday, right after he swiped and cleaned the entrance hall and took the sheets off the living room and dining room. There he sent Catherine a message about the room situation, including an invitation to visit now that the pipes were working.

He had also closed all the windows and looked for animals - he found a snake hidden under the sink and some cockroaches under the sofa but that was it.

All he managed to buy in town was some more bread, cheese, some jerky, and a water bottles. The rest was canned soup and beans. The water proved to be clear and fine, but Alan still boiled it in the wood-stove, after cleaning the kitchen. It was slowly getting to look better, but he was too slow and the manor too big. The entrance hall and the living room he managed to make it look presentable, and the dining table still needed some work with the dust. He noticed a couple of chairs were missing, and one was broken. He sat that one aside to fix it.

After watering a small bush of wild roses in the front of the manor, which Alan thought didn't get much rain, he walked inside to be faced with a beast slaying a small prey, blood smearing the floor were the victim laid butchered. Green eyes looked up at him, and the animal was paralyzed while Alan watched it, trying to make his heart go back to his place.

"Where did ya came from?" Alan said to the cat after some time. The black cat stood, licking his lips obsessively, hair standing and hissing a little, almost too low to hear. Alan decided to entice the beast with treats, so he went to the kitchen cooing for the cat a little, seeing with the corner of his eyes the cat slowly walking his way, trying to stay by the shadows as much as he could - no hardship, Alan had opened all the curtains but the dark was a prominent thing on a house without working lights. Alan got the jerky he had put away inside a cabinet and took a piece out for the cat, who was already by the door.

Alan laid the jerky on the floor, a few steps away from him, and stood up again, looking the cat slowly make his way to the tasty meat. When he got pretty close, the cat put the whole thing on his mouth, and dashed away from the kitchen, leaving Alan more lonely than he had been before.

Why wasn't Catherine answering his messages? He tried calling to her twice, with no avail. The town he went to get groceries was just a little village close by, old man giving him the directions. No one there was willingly to talk to him, most people looking at him with pity in their eyes. Other were downright rude and ignored him completely. He didn't know the way back to Rosevelt's downtown.

His eyes began to burn at the thought of being abandoned or worse, and Alan put his hands on the counter to center himself. He was pretty much trapped in the manor now, no money to go back and no one to ask help to. Dumb, so so dumb.

Catherine must have thought so easy to fool him. _No, calm down._ He thought to himself, taking a deep breath. _You'll figure this out, you always do._

Tired, he began to make his way to the stairs. He paused on the bottom of the stairs when he he heard a noise on the top of it, and smiled a little while he turned, ready to give the wild cat more jerky, when his eyes found a the shadow by the top of the stair, and his heart began to thump so loud he felt the blood rushing in his ears. A man stood, facing away from him.

The figure was impressive. Nearly seven feet tall, though Alan could have been enlarging the predator by fear, and covered by a big black coat which hung limp from the wide, impossibly muscled shoulder, like the shoulders of a big lion, it felt wrong in a human.

_It felt… Constantin._

Alan looked at the man, and his chin trembled a little as he said, "Hey..."

He swallowed when the man didn't respond, he still couldn't look at his turned face. "Hey!"

The man still didn't answer, but he could see he was fiddling with something. Suddenly scared the was going to put out some kind of gun, he stepped back ready to run, but then he heard the noise. Rattling metal, like keys. The man turned a little sideways, with care so that he was still hidden by the shadows of the candles Alan had lit.

He was clearly looking at him now, his eyes flashed almost gold in the darkness, with a hint of red. He watched Alan, and Alan watched him.

It didn't last long. With a pained growl, he flashed up the stairs like a ghost. It was almost like he disappeared in the shadow. Alan almost fell to the ground, knees weak and his whole body trembling.

He had to have imagined it. No one was that fast.

What was that? What monster could it be? Was he going insane?

He stood there for some time, until his feet got cold. Alan heard the cat meowing from somewhere in the house.

A noise coming from the entrance made him jump. Someone had opened the door, and Alan was quick to move. His heart was still pounding when the old man came close enough that he could recognize him. The old man seemed nervous.

"Hello Alan! I've come to thank you for the rose seed." His voice was quiet, it echoed in the house anyway, and he looked around suspicious. "You're as pale and as white as snow. You saw him, didn't you?"

His voice was starting to fill with glee, and his eyes shone with hope. Alan hugged himself.

"What is going on here? Who was that man?" He asked, pointing at the stairs. His questions only made the old man laugh.

"You must've seen him! It's the master, Alan! He said hello!"

Alan shook his head, trying to center himself.

"He run like… And disappeared… I don't understand."

The old man wasn't listening anymore. His eyes were straying, shining, as if seeing something he couldn't.

"He didn't feed that night then... I wonder if he's hungry."

Alan was quiet. His mouth opened, and closed again, at a lost for words. He decided to solve simple problems first.

"Who is he, exactly? I need you to tell who was that man. What's his name?"

"Why, it's Lord Constantin! He owns this place!"  
Alan released a shaky breath. It couldn't be Constantin!

 _No_ , he thought. _He must be a descendant. He has the same name as his ancestor, probably._

_Of course._

"Is he Catharine's brother?" he asked, a little more composed. The man confirmed.

"Yes, of course. Who else could he be Alan?" The man chuckled.

Alan smiled a little, finally making sense of the situation. He didn't know how but Constantin was in the manor. He looked hurt and completely disfigured, and in dire need of help. Alan could search for him later, and help him go back to Catherine. Constantin needed help.

"What's you name anyway? You've never told me" He asked the old man, feeling a little more in control of the situation. Night was already falling and Alan would not have time to light any candles. He would have to sleep in a room on the second floor, because it was raining again. It was the only floor with bedrooms he knew were safe to sleep in.

Alan's thoughts went back to Constantin. Poor man. What kind of sickness made him this way? It made sense Catherine was hiding her brother. He was not a pretty sight to see, and she looked like she was influential in the city. In any way, he felt anger at the thought of someone abandoning a person obviously in need of care, as Constantin's groans of pain told him. The man was a giant and looked strong, but he couldn't survive here on his own, certainly.

"Carl Montgomery!" The old man answered, smiling. "But you can call me Carl, and I insist you do so!"

Alan smiled, and made the old man leave to his home. It would be night soon, and he shouldn't be wandering around in this cold.

When Alan tried opening the bedrooms on the second floor, he found them all locked. The master bedroom mocked him, doors open wide. Alan chuckled, knowing now that Constantin was playing with the keys.

Alan entered the master bedroom and opened the curtains around the bed. He was less afraid now, but still held his breath when the curtain opened. No one was in the bed.

Feeling gross and sticky from the day's adventures, he quickly went back to his backpack to eat some jerky and afterwards prepared a bath. Moving his stuff to the master bedroom temporarily took some time, but in the end he felt safer.

He fell asleep soon after, laying on the spacious bed. In the middle of night he didn't woke up to feel the sheets sliding of his body. Nor did he felt a cold hand sliding up and down his tight. He did not hear a raw whisper, growling under the moonlight, a mumble of words muttered over and over again.

No, he woke up at four in the morning. The curtains were shut and everything was silent. Alan felt uneasy. It was too dark, but something woke him up. He thought he heard noises, maybe a faint scream, but it was too far away.

He felt the need to check up, and walked to the door, opening it up just a bit. The corridor was dark. The wind swiped up a little of the leaves on the floor, and he could only hear the trees rustling outside.

"Constantin?" He called, uncertain. His voice echoed down the corridor and dissipated. The manor was asleep. He closed the door and went back to sleep too.

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,


	4. Chapter IV - Constantin's Interlude

**Chapter IV**

**Constantin's Interlude**

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

_why not merely the despaired of_

_occasion of_

_wordshed_

_is it not better abort than be barren_

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

The car was new and ran smoothly down the snowy road. Cynthia liked it, even though she fought so hard for the old one. But if she was going to make a two days trip while fighting this crazy weather, the old car, no matter how much she loved it, couldn't be trusted.

The car shook lazily down the road and she wiped the window pane again. She was blind to the path in front of her. The snow fell like buckets down the sky and she thought _this is impossible, the car will be buried,_ but it didn't happened.

Her hands on the wheel were shaky and sweaty. She usually liked to drive, but since they got into the little Roosevelt town she's been nervous. She was alert and jumpy, especially now that she was completely certain this was the wrong way.

She's been on this road for far too long. And because this was supposed to be the hotel street, she knew for sure she made a mistake. Like forty-five minutes ago. And when she made a U-turn, she hadn't found her way back.

But the weird thing was, she saw the sign when she entered this street. It was this road, it couldn't be any other. So this never ending road must have appeared between the right street and the hotel.

Making the math in her head, she blamed the snow and the poor vision.

She took a deep breath to stop the shaking. Everything was probably fine, she was going till the end of this road and then make a plan from there. She would get there soon, she thought, everything has an end, right? This couldn't actually go on forever, _for Christ's sake_. The snow was making her go slower. This weather was messing with her head, probably.

On the sides of the road there were only woods. Tall, dark and thick woods that didn't gave much vision. The night was falling down like a big blanket upon her and the trees made a blur as she drove.

She heard a clack. Again. She turned her head to the woods, one more time. If there wasn't a thousand of walking shapes in these woods, then she definitely needed to sleep.

Her lids were half open while she stared right ahead of her. She shook her head and forced them wide open, blinking fast a couple of times. The snow seemed to come straight forward as if trying to stop her car. Her heartbeat was slow.

She would have to stop now. She was sleeping in her seat.

Before making the decision to stop the car, she saw something in the distance.

To little dots. Two little white dots?

 _It's that a car?_ She though, _please be a car._

But it probably wasn't. It was too tall to be a car.

She leaned forward, the little white dots widening, widening... Until they stopped widening.

They were lamps. Two old lamps up in two tall posts, and apparently a little bridge. The rest was too dark to see, but judging from the rocks and the sudden cliff, there was a river in there for sure. She slowed her car to a stop.

Opening the door, a strong wind collided with her face, freezing her lashes. She hugged herself feeling constricted in her bulky coat and went to inspect the bridge, feet burying into the white snow.

The first thing she noticed was that there was some kind of vegetation on the sides of the bridge, right under the lamps. It was pretty, but she was sure those flower weren't supposed to shine and rise like that in the winter. She couldn't see much because of the snow falling upon it, but they were probably wild roses.

The bridge was long, over a river that was congealed. The rocks gleamed humid under the lights of her car and the two lamps. Everything frozen, even the wild roses that were growing by the sides of the lamps. It passed through her head that in the summer, by the sun, they must be quite beautiful.

Now they were just creepy.

No sign on the bridge. She _could_ see some kind of building in the distance. Looked almost like a manor.

It gave her a little hope. _Maybe it's the hotel_ …

Giant and old like this? Probably not.

It was very eerie, but she had no other choice.

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

_saying again_

_if you do not teach me I shall not learn_

_saying again there is a last_

_even of last times_

_last times of begging_

_last times of loving,_

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

Locked inside a room and slumped in a cold corner, Constantin woke up hungry.

He sniffed the air inside of the darkened place. It was always dark in this room. It was dark in all rooms, he didn't need lights. He could see just fine, and smell even better.

He could smell the man in his house. His blood was warm and calm, he was sleeping. He wanted to go there, and watch him all night. The man was too far away, and Constantin couldn't get him out of his head. He was cold, and hungry.

It was too dangerous. He had to do something. He had to feed.

He scented something different.

He crawled to the big window, his large disfigured body just a faded silhouette under the moonlight. The glass was old and dirty but the wood and stone around it were strong. He place his both hands on the sturdy window pane, his breath hot against it, making shades. He rubbed his palm to see, eyes catching his grotesque face and his saliva dripping fangs before focusing on the outside. His eyes tracked down the garden, the steps that led to the little bridge. This night was a cruel night for travelers. They were really getting lost this winter.

He trembled at the smell of the blood running through a little rabbit stumbling down his garden. The hunger was eating him from inside out even though his last kill had been this morning. He was past the point of knowing which hunger was true hunger. The snow fell down harder and the great creature saw the rabbit walking down his path lift her head and he hid in the shadows before she could get a look at him. It wasn't good to let himself be seen before. They got scared and ran away, and then he couldn't get them. He had to hurry now.

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

_if you do not love me I shall not be loved_

_if I do not love you I shall not love_

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

The trees shook by the windows, the snow was piling up against the door and the rabbit was hitting the knocker against the door again and again.

He opened the door, slowly. He welcomed her in.

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

_the churn of stale words in the heart again_

_love love love thud of the old plunger_

_pestling the unalterable_

_whey of words._

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

She screamed but didn't had time to cry. He had to fight to keep her inside, careful when his hand pressed against the fragile neck too harshly. Still, he desperately sucked down the remains of his body until there was none left, while she clawed at his clothes and face trying to get away from him. She was wide eyed, screaming for help.

 _You are not leaving_ , he thought, _I still need you._

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

_I and all the others that will love you_

_if they love you_

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

Cynthia laid dying on the floor of a dark room. She felt her last seconds slipping away while she gazed up at the monster crouched beside her. Her lips were still mouthing her screaming even as she fell silent. She whispered again and again. "Monster."

He looked into her cold eyes until she stopped breathing and a drop of blood fell from his mouth to her cheek, sliding away like a tear. Constantin traced it, and he thought he felt something inside his chest. A memory from a long time ago.

"You did it again."

He lifted his head. The shimmering figure stood just on the doorway, ashen, fallen face staring with disgust horror and pity at his crouched position.

"Yes," Constantin nodded and sadly confessed. It was getting harder and harder to communicate, his voice fading to a animal rumble and snarls, hurting his throat. He forced them to transform into shadow of words.

" _Monster_ … " he repeated what she said to his friend, he was thinking about it since she said it. He chuckled.

"That is not my name," He knew it now. He smiled at his trembling friend, scar stretching ugly along his cheeks, and he caressed the cheek of the dead lady, smearing the blood accidentally over her pale skin. He had always wanted remember his name… He wanted to remember a lot of things, and no one really spoke to him nowadays.

_Constantin._

That is for sure his name,even though she screamed _monster_ again and again. He dragged the girl by the hair down the room, piling her up to the other bodies.

_She's a liar._

The old man followed, silent, weeping voices coming from within while he tried to speak.

"No, that is not your name, my poor friend."

Constantin said nothing.

"You can't keep killing them," the old man said. Constantin panted and the air condensed in front of him, body warm once again. He put the rabbit down on the pile.

"Can't you see you are just feeding the beast inside you?" the old man said, once more.

Constantin grew sad and he grit his sharp, pointed teeth. His friend hated to see him ending another life, but wasn't it a matter of survival?

Why else would he still be so hungry?

"I need it," he said. The old man shook his head.

"Promise me. Promise that Alan you will spare," The ghost said from the doorway, unwilling to let go. "He can be with you. You don't have to be lonely."

Constantin thought about that sweet scent that lingered even here, calming him, and calling for him. Alan was safer, now that Constantin had sated the hunger. Pulling a man's falling body next to the lady, and their hands touched from the top of the pile, in a dark last moment. With his eyes on their touching fingers, he promised.

"He won't die."

But he would never, ever leave.

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

_unless they love you_

_Cascando by S. Beckett, 1936_

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

 

 

**A/N:**

_Fun Fact -_ This interlude was written for myself only, but I decided to share as an early present because...

 _Not So Fun Fact -_ I won't update for at least two weeks. My dog has been very sick and will go through surgery soon, and I literally need to supervise him 24/7. That is why I've been updating everything so slowly, I'm really sorry about that. Thanks for the lovely comments, you guys give me life. As always, I will answer any specific question you guys have, just write it in the comments.


	5. Chapter V - You Leave Me Cold

_"_ _The saints were his friends, and blessed him; the monsters were his friends, and guarded him."_

_―_ _Victor Hugo_

**Chapter V**

**You Leave Me Cold**

There was a storm. Rain was hitting the windows like pebbles and noise of the thunder woke him up. Alan turned to the windows, under the heavy blankets, eyes blinking the sleep away. It was so dark outside he couldn't even make out the window. He felt around for his his phone under his pillow.

Four in the morning. He groaned and tossed the phone down again, knowing it would be hard to fall back asleep now. He was swallowed by the darkness in the room and even pacing around was not an option. The whole manor would be pitch black.

The sudden lightning made the entire room visible for a second. Alan was still counting the seconds when a loud bang made him jump and everything in the room vibrate. It wasn't the following thunder. It came from downstairs.

He threw the covers off his body and tripped when trying to get out of bed. He fell to the floor and was struggling to get up as faint growling noises made their way into the house.

He got up to unsteady feet and felt his way to the door as fast as he could. Another lighting. He saw the doorknob in the time it took for it to disappear, and ran down the corridor. Accompanied by the sudden flashes of lights, he thanked god for the stupid large windows in the manor. He calling out Constantin's name before he even realized it.

It was very tricky going down the stairs in the darkness. He was looking down, squinting even though he couldn't see a thing anyway, and then suddenly he could. Light hit his feet, pale and thin. He looked up. The door was wide open, the outside light shining in. The silhouette of Constantin dragging something heavy inside.

A horrible stench of blood.

"Constantin?" he shook, and his voice echoed again.

Metallic, dirty and foul.

He took a deep breath. Constantin had apparently just killed something, and was now happily dragging it inside like a child dragging their favorite bunny along the floor.

He shifted his attention to the body. It was, thankfully, not human. Alan coughed and tried to get his breath under control again.  _Of course it's not human_ , what was he thinking? It looked like a  _deer_ to him. He had no idea why Constantin would drag that kind of thing inside, but it looked like he had killed it.

He was still there at the entrance, dripping with blood and mud. The howling wind could be heard until he let his burden fall to the floor completely, and turned around to slam the doors shut. Everything was dark now.

He couldn't see a thing.

"Constantin?" Alan called again. Constantin grunted back, sounding a little confused. Alan's heart squeezed inside his chest like it had so many times while helping his friends on the streets, on the bars, in the brothels. He would always recognize the fear. He could almost hear the unspoken question.

_Who's there?_

And why would someone be? The man had been abandoned here for probably years.

"I'm Alan, your sister… Your sister sent me… Look, I just want to help you, I just-" He stuttered, he couldn't do it. Not with something that huge dead on the ground, the stench filling the air. "What  _happened?_ " Alan's voice was as weak, and for a moment he was afraid he couldn't fix this. "What's going on?" He tried walking down the last step and his feet fell onto nothing. His arms shot forward, and he tried to brace himself against something.

And there was something. He was clutching his hands in a coat, and Constantin was holding him upright. Right there. He was right there, and Alan could smell the blood all over him.

"Tell me what happened," He asked the darkness.

"Hungry," Constantin rasped.

Alan frowned, at a complete loss.

"You're hungry?"

He was ice cold. Constantin was so cold, Alan could not even feel his breath, and the hands on his arms where stealing all the warmth from his body. When he spoke, all Alan felt was the vibration of his growling voice.

"You," he said, "You are. I can smell it."

"Did you really kill a deer?"

"Yes," he said, almost whispering. Alan could feel him tremble under his hands, and he patted him softly, not wanting Constantin to feel threatened.

"Because I'm hungry," Alan said.

"...Brought it back to you."

Alan chuckled, releasing some of the tension on his shoulders. It was a terrible situation, and Constantin was probably more than he could handle, more dangerous than he had thought, but he couldn't help to find his logic amusing. Soon the giggles shook his entire body as he realized what that entailed, and he was crying.

"It's this how you survive here? You hunt?" he said, through his sobs. It was too early for this, and the situation too surreal. He had never felt so out of control in his life. What was he doing here?

_What the hell am I doing?_

He heard Constantin shift a little, releasing his safe grip on Alan's arms.

"Yes," he said, and it was so clear he felt uncomfortable talking about it, the  _shame_  in his answer. Alan held him back, clutching the cloth of his coat desperate to not lose contact.

"How could she do this to you?" Alan half-cried, half-whispered. "Doesn't she knows you're hunting to survive? She's rich! She looked rich to me, at least-"

"Sleep, Alan," Constantin said, gently pushing Alan upstairs. Alan missed the step and Constantin guided his hand towards the rail. Alan did not see his eyes flashing a deep bright red color.

"-abandoning her own blood just because you're sick? What kind of person- Constantin, wait," Alan said, turning back and pushing back against Constantin's chest. "What will you do with the thing?" he whispered, while the rain violently hit against the windows and poured through broken glasses all over the entrance.

"Thing?" Constantin rasped back.

"The  _animal_ you  _killed_ ," Alan said, feeling the coldness in Constantin chest, thought the cloth.  _So cold._

"Take the meat," Constantin said, flinching at the touch.

"Let me help you," Alan said, "I don't think I can sleep anymore."

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

_"_ _Over here the ladies all want sweet perfume_

_But there's never a rose_

_And over the roses are frightened to bloom_

_So they never can grow"_

_―_ _Tom Waits, Lost In The Harbour_

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

Constantin looked surreal under the light of the candles he helped Alan to find. He groaned his way through it, apparently a little upset Alan decided to join him, but accepted his company. Alan bit his lip as the man's deformed hands handled the knife with care around the table, slowly undressing the deer from it's hide, harvesting the meat underneath. His claws -  _his fucking claws_  - seemed to interfere with the handling and he growled when he got frustrated, the sound never failing to make Alan jump, hairs rising.

It was like Alan was tiptoeing between reality and fantasy. The man was a  _man_ , a human being… He knew that. And he had seen all kinds of human beings before, through the paths his life had taken him.

He had never seen claws.

Whenever Alan looked into Constantin's eyes Alan couldn't breath. The man looked exactly like Constantin from the portrait, if not for the unkempt hair, and full, untrimmed beard. His body was dripping blood, some animal fur was mixed with the mud and stuck on his white shirt. If he ignored the claws, Constantin was a big, strangely muscled, tall man.

But the way his shoulders bent forward made it seem like he was a beast always ready to strike. His ears were strange, curved at the top, forming a tip. His eyes had this weird red glow to them… And he had black claws.

They weren't crazy big, but definitely bigger than a human's nail. Alan knew that a doctor would probably explain all this to him and make him feel so stupid, but right now, Constantin was unexplainable.

Still, his lonely was palpable and his suffering was so visible.

And Alan knew what sufferin _g_ felt like.

Alan knew  _ **lonely.**_

He knew  _that_  so much, that standing by Constantin in that kitchen, as he awkwardly butchered the deer and flinched every time Alan touched his shoulder to get his attention -  _or even said his name_ \- felt incredibly natural to him.

"What were you doing now?" he asked, leaning over the table. Constantin had dropped the knife, and was looking at the window. The sun would rise soon, Alan noticed, the darkness was giving away to light. The rain had stopped a few moments ago, and the air was cold and humid.

"Can you light the fire?" Constantin half said, half growled instead, while separating the meat inside the non-working freezer Alan had cleaned. It wasn't much for preserving, but it  _was_  a barrier for the animals. Alan had insisted Constantin put the meat there, instead of throwing it in the dirty sink, and Constantin had grumbled about it but eventually gave in.

Alan looked around him and towards the big wood oven tucked in the corner of the old fashioned kitchen.

"Yeah, I think so," There were logs piled on the side of it, held by a wooden box. He knew he had matches somewhere in the trunk.

Constantin then walked to to the cabinets by the sink and rummaged inside of them, coming out with some kind of big cloth. He proceeded to wrap it around what was left of the carcass, guts and insides previously discarded, and lifted it all on his shoulder.

"Where are you going with that?" Alan asked.

Constantin did not stop walking, and Alan felt compelled to follow. He walked to the old wooden back door of the kitchen and took out his keys to open it. Cold air rushed in from the open door and Alan shivered, hugging his arms to himself. When Constantin was out, Alan moved to follow, but had the door closed right on his face.

"Constantin?" Alan said, turning the handle, but he could heard Constantin locking it from the outside. "Why are you looking me in?" he asked, confused. Incredulity slowly mixed in as well, and Alan knocked hard on the door.

Receiving no response, Alan huffed and walked out of the kitchen. He told himself Constantin was just confused, away from people for too long. He would get his answer out of him in time, and then figure out how to take him back to the city.

He walked past the dine room, the living room, and past the stairs to try the front door. But as he turned the handles to find them also locked, he couldn't help but ask himself whether or not Constantin was safe to be around with.

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

_"_ _Distant thunder rumble...  
_ _rumble hungry like the Beast...  
_ _the Beast it cometh, cometh down..." ― Nick Cave, Tupelo_

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

The shadow shimmering in the corner gasped as the Constantin brough the body inside the basement, to later join thousands of others.

"No…" The man whispered, moving closer. "You promised!"

"Not him," Constantin gasped out, throwing the body on top of the others. "A deer." He closed the door forcefully. The basement was pitch black, but the sun was rising in the sky, and his body knew that. His body  _always_ knew.

"A deer?" The man tilted his head, and went to the body, slowly lifting the fabric to reveal the butchered animal. His voice turned sad. "But why? You know it doesn't work that way."

"Not for me… For him," Constantin said.

"For Alan?"

"Yes."

The man took a while to respond, but then he slowly opened a smile.

"I see! That's a great idea, my friend! He mustn't go out to buy food no more!" The old man clapped his hands, proud at his friend's solution.

"No more," Constantin said, dropping on the cold floor and leaning against the wall. He couldn't risk sleeping inside. The only safe room was his bedroom, and that was Alan's now. He felt much better knowing the human was in there, for some reason.

The sun was up now, and the lethargy took over his body. Soon he would see him again, feed and happy, safe inside his bedroom. Would he be pleased? Constanting remembered how warm he had felt, when he touched him. Just like that, no hesitation, disgust, no judgement. Alan put his hands on his body like he was his equal, talked to him like no living human did ever since he could remember. Constantin clenched his teeth. Everything around him was dead, but Alan was his. Nothing would take him away, he wouldn't let it happen. It would be hard, he would have to feed constantly and hunt for both of them, but it would be worth it.

He fell asleep a little better, holding onto the hope that Alan would call him by his name tomorrow. Maybe Alan would make him remember who he once was.

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,

_"_ _You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming."_

_―_ _Pablo Neruda_

,..,,..,,..,,..,,..,


End file.
